Top Secret: Kiss Cookies Recipe

Since I was about 7, my dad has made these fantastic cookies (see the worst picture of them ever to the right). My best friend christened them “Super-Duper-Extra-Special-Mr.-Ricci-Cookies” when we were in 3^rd grade, though we just call them Kiss Cookies. They were/are her favorite cookies (which is why my only job in planning her bridal shower was “BRING THE COOKIES”). My sister and I have helped my dad make them over the years. They really are fantastic and they’re usually a big hit (Kurt is the only one I know who doesn’t go crazy for them), but they’re a pain to make. While the recipe is very easy, it is a painstakingly long process. You start by unwrapping Hershey’s Kisses (at least 28 oz.). Then, you wrap each newly unwrapped kiss in dough. During the holidays, our kitchen usually resembled an assembly line (or a sweatshop. Take your pick). We’d put on Elf and spend hours unwrapping and wrapping hundreds of kisses.

In the past, whenever I needed these cookies, I asked my dad and volunteered my tiny fingers for the unwrapping/wrapping part. Well folks, the student has become the master (or you know, the amateur baker who calls her dad every five minutes in a panic when the dough doesn’t turn out exactly the way he said it would). Putting my new food processor and KitchenAid mixer to good use, Kurt and I spent about 7 hours over the past two weeks making a grand total of 600 cookies, more or less…but probably close to more. The first round of baking (or torture, as Kurt puts it) was for Maca’s going away party, where my former co-workers fought over who got to take some home with them. Is there any better feeling than people loving something you made so much that arguments and fistfights ensue? I think not.

The second round was for a charity bake sale at Kurt’s work this week. On Monday night, we spent five hours making about 400 cookies. For me, this is fairly standard. For Kurt, it was intensive labor akin to sweatshop work. This time, the dough didn’t do exactly what it was supposed to, so I called my dad. “You must have done something wrong.” Thanks, Dad. I appreciate your candor.* But, against all odds, and by some sort of magic, the cookies turned out the way they were supposed to. My dad offered support the way any concerned father would, by calling three to four times during the process to ask how things were going. These are his babies after all.

My dad has always believed in sharing recipes, so in that spirit, I give to you the recipe for the Super-Duper-Extra-Special-Mr.-Ricci-Cookies. Happy baking!

1½  cups of butter or margarine, softened
¾ cup sugar
1 tablespoon of Almond extract
2¾ cups of all purpose flour
1½ cups of finely chopped almonds (consistency of grated parmesan cheese)
2 (14 oz) packages of Hershey’s kisses
½ cup of semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 tablespoon shortening
powdered sugar

Heat oven to 375 degrees.  In a large bowl, beat butter, sugar, and almond extract until light and fluffy.  Add flour and almonds; beat at low speed until well blended.

Shape scant teaspoonful of dough around each candy kiss, covering completely.  Roll in hands to form ball.  Place on ungreased cookie sheets.

Bake at 375 degrees for 8 to 12 minutes or until set at the bottom edges (cookies will not darken much).  Cool on the cookie sheets for at least 5 minutes (they will crumble unless they stand for 5 minutes).

In a small saucepan over low heat, melt chocolate chips and shortening, stirring until smooth.  Drizzle over each cookie and let set.  Sprinkle cookies with powdered sugar before serving.

Helpful hints: Place parchment paper on cookie sheets. Leave cookies on sheets of parchment and drizzle chocolate on them.  It makes cleanup easier.  Place chocolate in a pastry bag to drizzle and use a fine tip.  Refrigerate cookies after drizzling to set the chocolate before sprinkling with powdered sugar.

*My high school AP US History teacher was an interesting man. I'd go as far as to say he was quirky, maybe even weird. When he asked a question, if you gave him the incorrect answer, he'd respond, "I appreciate your candor." and move on, never actually telling you what the correct answer was. One thing I'll say about LHS, it was certainly not lacking in unique teachers.